In Memoriam

[Leanne]

I will never dance with Byron, lame in glorious Eden,
never sink into the marble of Levantine passion
or bleed in the bed of a half-remembered lover.  
I will never breathe saltwater, never twine 
my hair around another's neck, never sit
alone in a cellar and write until my fingers wear away.

No soaring elegy to me will echo across time
to be etched upon a locket.  Please,
plant for me a single rose, whose fragrance 
may one day bring a sigh to the lips of lovers
my words will never reach.

[NobodyNothing]

A melancholy but pretty little gem methinks.  I quite enjoyed.

Now don't forget to take your Prozac.

[Achebe]

The 'never twine' is lovely, as is the penultimate line.
L2 sounds a bit long to me...? 'Stone of Grecian' or something like that might fit the metre better, but I have Midas ears.

[Erthona]

...and thus die the Romantics, or at least their sniveling imitators. Nice cadence.

I especially like this line "or bleed in the bed of a half-remembered love" For I have only loved by half and half again
have I loved for there be only Ladies and Gentlemen, or so I assume!

I am a bit confused as to who is lame in Eden "I will never dance with Byron, lame in glorious Eden"

Wasn't he lame all the time -club foot - or what have you. His pointed remarks still killed a few Greeks.

"No soaring elegy to me will echo across time
to be etched upon a locket." Ethernet?


Some say the English have no dry wit, it is simply them putting on airs where none are called for, but then the same people say the painting should be hung against the wall.

dale

[just mercedes]

Regrets across time and space - I like the tone of your poem. Though it did make me think of The Cellar in Byron Bay for some reason.

[shemthepenman]

i like this poem very much.

[Leanne]

I am a bit confused as to who is lame in Eden "I will never dance with Byron, lame in glorious Eden"

Wasn't he lame all the time -club foot - or what have you. His pointed remarks still killed a few Greeks.

I like to think he was in glorious Eden all the time as well, and not just while his pen built Childe Harold.

Many thanks, all. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself this morning so I thought I'd throw something out there.

[ellajam]

Zevon

a credit to her gender
... like a waring blender

[just mercedes]

I am a bit confused as to who is lame in Eden "I will never dance with Byron, lame in glorious Eden"

Wasn't he lame all the time -club foot - or what have you. His pointed remarks still killed a few Greeks.

I like to think he was in glorious Eden all the time as well, and not just while his pen built Childe Harold.

Many thanks, all.  I was feeling a bit sorry for myself this morning so I thought I'd throw something out there.

Awwww Leanne - here's my Byron tribute, to cheer you up. I read this at an open mic session in Chicago.

I don’t believe Byron                                               
 
 
I don’t believe Byron
ate porridge for breakfast;
pancakes - maybe
poached eggs like young girls’ breasts
or peaches.
 
He wouldn’t puddle
in mucilaginous sludge
for the sake of his bowels
and slow glycemic uptake
would he?
 
I believe Byron
wore women’s underwear,
painted the nails red
on his club foot.

[NobodyNothing]

I am a bit confused as to who is lame in Eden "I will never dance with Byron, lame in glorious Eden"

Wasn't he lame all the time -club foot - or what have you. His pointed remarks still killed a few Greeks.

I like to think he was in glorious Eden all the time as well, and not just while his pen built Childe Harold.

Many thanks, all.  I was feeling a bit sorry for myself this morning so I thought I'd throw something out there.

My self pity knows no bounds.  Occasionally it morphs into something resembling empathy or compassion.  Then I'm justifiably filled with a feeling of self satisfaction.  

At least you have the talent to wax poetic about it.  I'm envious.

---

[Leanne]

Awwww Leanne - here's my Byron tribute, to cheer you up. I read this at an open mic session in Chicago.

I don’t believe Byron                                               
 
 
I don’t believe Byron
ate porridge for breakfast;
pancakes - maybe
poached eggs like young girls’ breasts
or peaches.
 
He wouldn’t puddle
in mucilaginous sludge
for the sake of his bowels
and slow glycemic uptake
would he?
 
I believe Byron
wore women’s underwear,
painted the nails red
on his club foot.

I remember that one! It's one of my favourites for two reasons: firstly, for "mucilaginous sludge", which is exactly how that "healthy" shit should be described, and secondly because goddamn yes he would have painted those toenails. The most garish, prostitute-shaming red available.

[Leanne]

I made it flowery.

[shemthepenman]

i just couldn't cope with the font you used. sorry :/

[NobodyNothing]

Forgive that I ask, but what does this poem have to do with Donald Trump?